


She Invited Them In

by Whiskawaybelf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Spoilers, Violence in Later Chapters, so many spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9011575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiskawaybelf/pseuds/Whiskawaybelf
Summary: The Whitestone Arc from Cassandra's point of view. From meeting some beautiful strangers, to losing everything, to becoming a plaything, to finding herself.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First Chapter of a multi-chapter story. Try to be cannon compliant but since there's so much we don't know... basically Imma try so hard. Always will add trigger warnings when applicable at the beginning of a chapter. Please comment, review, critique. It's my first work for Critical role!
> 
> Edit: My apologies for tagging the work incorrectly. It is now no longer in the Critical Role RPF tag. Thank you for letting me know Linda C.!

 

Cassandra Johanna Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo had her mother's hair and her father's eyes and her great Aunt's stubborn chin, though she learned at a young age that a 'stubborn chin' was code for: 'she's a mule of a girl, Johanna and you ought to have her whipped.'

 

The thing was that Cass never noticed _Ludwig_ being told he was a 'mule' of a boy, though he was as obstinate as she was and just as likely to be sent to his room without dinner. Perhaps, she thought, it was because he had a nose that had already been broken three times by his ripe old age of ten and everyone knew what to expect when you met a boy with a broken nose and a chipped tooth. Cassandra had a chipped elbow but that wasn't the sort of thing you could see and it certainly was no warning.

 

The youngest daughter of the de Rolo family was by all accounts a spirited monster of a girl in the deceptive guise of an angel with hair the colour of caramel. She was, as noted by her tutors, nurses, and siblings: “the sort of child who challenges without disrespect and shows signs of intelligence beyond her years. She is, nonetheless, a difficult child. Self-centered, rarely quiet, and when bored (which is _near constant)_ impossible to contain. You would think to look at her that she was her sister, born again, but where Whitney is calm and well kept, Cassandra can be expected to be irreverent and covered in a fine layer of filth. One can only hope she outgrows her childishness in due time.” In her defence, and Cassandra was fond of being defensive, Cassandra was six at the time of writing.

 

Perhaps, this evaluation of her would have been less severe if her whole family was not so well behaved. Her siblings all had their various flaws and secrets, but at their older ages with their years of practice, they all carried the de Rolo name like it weighed nothing on their shoulders. Ludwig and Cassandra, who were youngest and spoiled and protected, had the most trouble with this sort of thing. Ludwig was beginning to develop his poker face and becoming closer to Oliver and Whitney and further from Cassandra, which only caused her to stir up more trouble. She had the terrible idea that if she did not make herself the loudest of her siblings, they might all forget she existed. She was not tall for her age, nor exceptional at anything like her siblings were. Even Percy, who was the quietest and most withdrawn of her brothers and sisters, was more impressive than her for even she could appreciate that his mind was extraordinary. She had tried to win him over to her side and show him that she was as bright as he was, only to overhear his call her a 'brat' to Vesper, after which Cassandra (who at the point of this particular anecdote was eight and extremely sensitive to anything but pure adoration) had sworn never to love him again.

 

There were a great many of the siblings, as if the parents hadn't known when to stop, and then arrived at Cassandra who was an aforementioned 'difficult child' and found that as good a reason as any to keep the family to a lucky seven little ones.

 

Julius was the oldest and Vesper the second oldest. They were far too old to be considered children like their siblings and both were well on their way to becoming functioning adults with dreams to leave home and see the world.

 

Julius would one day inherit Whitestone and Vesper would marry nobility for a good bit of money, and on that account they were perfect children with impeccable manners who followed those plans to a T. Julius was charismatic and fair, the sort who broke hearts and was voted 'most trustworthy' in turn. Vesper was clever and good and though both her siblings were like little parents to her, Cassandra loved Vesper the most, for she knew she was her sister's favourite among the little ones. She knew Vesper, with her dark eyes and slow smirk saw herself, but braver in Cass. It was not the sort of thing one said out loud. Indeed, the de Rolos were not much on public affection, though Mother and Father murmured 'I love you” to one another after a dinner with more wine than usual, that did not make these things untrue.

 

Oliver was the older of the twins by five minutes, and he was as dark as his sister was light. His expression was consistently serious, which hid a consummate prankster who was unique in that he was never caught. The only sibling who was not in danger from Oliver was Whitney, who he protected fiercely and loved more than anyone else. Cassandra once asked Ludwig if he would jump in to protect her should Whitestone be attacked by pirates, as it had been in the bedtime story Vesper had told them. He had laughed in her face. Oliver had not laughed in Whitney's face. No. He had hugged her closer, for the story had scared her. Cassandra had punched Ludwig in the arm.

 

Whitney (who Cassandra was often compared to, and found consistently wanting) was lovely and considered to be the loveliest of the sisters for she was kind, and gentle, and formed like a china doll. Cassandra privately worried that her middle sister might be a bit simple. Her eyes were the colour of Lapis Lazuli and were slow to blink which gave her the distinct expression of a deer, if you were being kind, or a cow if you were not. Though Whitney never created a competition between herself and Cassandra (the thought would not have even occurred to her) a competition existed, and Cassandra was the perpetual loser. Yet, even though Cassandra was desperately jealous of Whit, she loved her equally desperately. It was impossible not to.

 

Ludwig, as we've discussed, was a mule of a boy as a child, who grew into a monkey, who grew into maturity and began to align himself with his older sibling. At first Oliver, but he soon realized that Oliver was loyal only to Whitney and it was not a bond that could be broken. Eventually Ludwig discovered that Percy did not have a 'sibling pair' and he became like a protege to their brother. He was very proud of this fact and seemed to think nothing of leaving Cassandra on her own and she swore she would never forgive him.

 

She did. It is easy to forgive the dead.

 

It is good to know that Cassandra by virtue of the order of her birth and because she accepted that she would most likely end up as a bardic governess to her sibling's children, was not the sort who accepted the castle as she saw it. She knew from her siblings that there were paths within the walls where she was not to go (and where she went anyway, with renewed enthusiasm) effectively ruinning several perfectly passable dresses in pastel shades. Her siblings told her, in conspiratorial tones that if she _was_ to go (knowing their sister well) she should avoid the paths marked with white _x_ s for those were tunnels that once had been whole but that now had become dangerous and unstable. In this, she listened, and she would come to dinners with her bleeding knees and hands hidden beneath gloves and stockings. She felt very brave and very interesting for she knew no one had ever managed to go as deep as she did. She imagined one day discovering some wonderful secret about Whitestone and impressing her whole family in one fell swoop.

 

“Our wonderful little explorer.” Mother would sigh. “Have you ever met one of her ilk?”

 

“No.” Father would say, his eyes crinkling with affection, “I don't believe I have.”

 

“I always knew she was exceptional.” Vesper exclaimed, for in these these dreams she was far less composed, “Haven't I always said that?”

 

Ludwig would come to hug her and with his eyes like rivers he would beg her forgiveness and she would refuse until Whitney spoke on his behalf. Then they would all have her favourite dinner of roasted Brussels sprouts, and cheese on toast, even though Percy got hives from sprouts, and they would finish with a glorious chocolate cake and Cassandra would get the biggest piece and not get even a smudge of it on her face or clothes.

 

This scene where she achieved something which shook her family's world was a reoccurring one that she revisited from age five to age twelve. At first, it wasn't about tunnels. It might be about whatever dance she had learned from her governess that day (becoming a dance master instantly) and then perhaps about the wonderful paper she had written for Professor Anders when she got a bit older. She was just reaching the age where these fantasies had added a few more to the characters list. Now, there was always a boy or girl who kissed her softly and whispered “I knew you could do it”. They were extraneous however, it was her family's adoration she craved.

 

Our story proper begins here:

 

Cassandra was dozing under a tree when she first heard the darkest horses in the whole world approach Whitestone. At the time she did not know they were the darkest horses in the world, only that there were horses and that they were coming. Once she opened her eyes, however, she noted they were also the _largest_ horses she had ever seen, and that they looked magnificent and utterly vicious. The carriage they pulled was likewise: obscenely regal and it carried an air of danger. Despite the dark wood of the carriage and the dark fabric that covered the windows, there was not a speck of dust or mud visible.

 

It struck Cassandra as a ostentatious display of pride and she was not used to families with more pride than her own and for that reason she would have followed the carriage to see the sort of people who were inside. That alone would have done it, but her desire to see the carriage to its destination went deeper, there was a subtle sort of whisper from the carriage, and it called to her. If you were to have asked Cassandra what it was that the whisper said she would not have been able to repeat it, only that it said what she wanted to hear and that she was someone who had heard 'no' often enough to appreciate someone saying 'yes'.

 

It should not have surprised Cass, who prided herself on being quick and clever, when the carriage pulled up in front of the gates of Whitestone Castle. Where else would those with such money go? She had a good memory but she could not recall ever knowing such transport to bring her parent's friends to Whitestone. She could not recall ever seeing horses so fearsome, and she had a perfectly reasonable fear of horses. She would have remembered seeing such people before.

 

For they were _such people_. The groom did not run to open the door for the couple, it would not have been dignified, but he moved with perfect haste. Cass thought he moved almost as if he was dancing. From her spot, frozen in place some metres from the carriage, she could see that he had a prominent scar along his jaw and presumably down to his neck. She tried to smile at him but could not. It is unlikely he would have smiled back, even if she had managed it.

 

In a shocking breach of propriety, a woman exited the carriage first and snapped open a parasol which she handed to her husband who came soon behind. Cass had never seen that happen before, her Lord Father always helped her mother out of the carriage and her mother wore _armour_ so it was not because she was weak. It was simply how things were done. She began to frown and like she had given a signal, the Lady turned around and her smile spread over her red lips like treacle. “Hello, little one.”

 

“I'm _thirteen_.” Cassandra put her hands to her hips and had she been paying attention she might have seen a flicker of something cruel cross the woman's face. Like most twelve year olds she was mostly focused on herself, indeed she did not turn thirteen for another few months, and only said it because she had needed something to sound impressive.

 

“Ah. Come closer, dear. Let me see you.” The lady looked to her husband and then back to Cassandra and again, had she cared to look, she would have seen the woman bite her lip for just a moment. Cassandra was drawn to the pair and as she approached she felt her heart start to beat faster. “You're a pretty one, aren't you?”

 

“You've not met my sisters, then?” Cassandra felt her face flush up and she was suddenly self-conscious of the too-short little girl's dress she wore and, even moreso, of the dirt and dust she had smeared across her cheek and over her hands and dress and legs. It was had not been easy to follow a carriage led by horses who towered over her and she had run herself ragged and gathered the dust and dirt to her. She tried to tug down her dress to hid the scabs on her knees. “I was much more charming as a child. I've not outgrown my awkwardness, Mother says.”

 

She could not have said what it was exactly that made her so nervous. She had met nobles before... Barons, and Counts, and Princesses: people who might be royalty if an estimated ten or fifteen people died in a convenient sort of manner. The couple was striking in a way that Cassandra was not used to, but she had been surrounded by the strikingly beautiful her whole life and did not find it as overwhelming as another might.

 

Perhaps it was the way that the woman's eyes looked over her, and then swept back up to look deep into Cassandra's own. Her family was kind enough and they did not _forget_ her exactly but neither did they spend time knowing her. Seventh born and with no real talents, it wasn't hard to understand why it seemed like years since anyone had seen her at all. Certainly, it was different when the person who seemed to see you was so terribly beautiful. The lady had auburn hair pulled back into a knot and her hair smooth as satin and reflecting light like a pomegranate juice. Her skin was smooth and pale and her eyes were deep set and dark and they seemed to take in everything. Her husband was equally well made, tall and strong, with a neat goatee and wide shoulders. His hair was dark, and it was hard to tell his expression beneath the shade of the parasol he still held and the dark lenses that covered his eyes. To his credit, he let his wife do as she pleased, he did not hurry their conversation nor even shift his weight to indicate boredom.

 

“I don't know who you are.” Cassandra felt herself coming over closer and from her position only a few feet away she could see that the couple were so well dressed, it was almost an embarrassment of riches. The fabrics were dark and deep and heavy, and neither they nor their owners showed any wear from the road. If the Lord and Lady had not been so restrained with the jewels they wore (one each, and their rings) Cassandra might have been tempted to call them gaudy. Instead they were perfect and she looked like a peasant in comparison.

 

“I know who you are, dearest.” The woman reached for Cassandra and she did not seem to notice the dirt under her fingernails or ingrained in the calluses on her palms. “Your mother and I are old friends.”

 

“Mama...? and you?” Cassandra chastised herself for not saying 'Mother'. She wondered if she might have a voice as much like velvet if she practised daily. She cleared her throat, trying to find a deeper register to show that she was a grown up too. Finally it dawned on her that she had done everything wrong with this introduction. She pulled away from the woman and dropped into a perfect curtsy. Cassandra was graceful, more coordinated than her siblings, and she took great pride in that. She was so busy taking pride in herself that she didn't see the couple share a look of satisfaction. “I'm Lady Cassandra Johanna Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo. I welcome you to Whitestone.”

 

The woman dipped into a small curtsy, and her husband inclined his head to Cass. “I am Lady Delilah Briarwood. This is my husband, Lord Sylas. What a pleasure to meet you.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in updating. I'm dealing with a concussion and I didn't want to put up a half-assed chapter. I do hope you enjoy!

 

Lady Johanna, Mistress of Whitestone, did not at first recognize Lady Briarwood.

 

Cassandra's mother was generally considered a master at courtesy; had there been a school for this sort of thing she would certainly have come up top of the class and it was part of why Lord Frederick had married her. Lord Frederick was the sort of man who often spent balls going over maps of the city in his head and organizing a full re-paving of the paths, he prided himself on his attention to detail. He had always needed a wife who was as canny as she was beautiful and his family had been delighted to find one with such good credentials and a reasonable dowry to her name. Cassandra had never seen her mother falter. She was not the sort one could read easily and even if Lady De Rolo did not know the woman, even if she had forgotten her, Cassandra would have never expected to know. Only... she _knew_. She narrowed her eyes as she saw her mother blink slowly once.

 

“My dear...?”

 

“Delilah. Johanna, it _is_ wonderful to see you again.”

 

Lady Briarwood ran forward and took Lady Johanna's hands like they were long lost sisters and Cassandra cringed. Her mother was not much for physical contact. She preferred a gentle kiss on the knuckle if it came with a deep bow or perhaps a light kiss on the cheek if you happened to have come out of her womb. Lady Briarwood didn't even incline her head. She looked boldly at Cassandra's Lady Mother and their eyes met. For less than a moment Lady Johanna tensed... then suddenly she grew loose like she had been plied with wine. Cassandra watched in pure shock as her expression softened and she smiled- a real smile- at Lady Briarwood.

 

“Dearest Delilah, _such_ a pleasure to see you again. I haven't seen you since-”

 

“-Since... Oh! It was that lovely ball-”

 

“-We were so young then! Do you remember-?”

 

“-You had your poor foot stepped on a million-”

 

“-A _million_ times. I thought I'd lose my big toe-”

 

“-And now we're both married!-”

 

“-Married! We were so young back then-”

 

“-So pretty-”

 

“-So silly-”

 

“-So thin-”

 

“- _Please_ Delilah, I've had seven childen! Don't speak to me about thin-”

 

“-You look wonderful Johanna, fresh as the day I met you-”

 

“-And you?”

 

Suddenly the jumble of chatter came to an end abruptly. It was taken up again quickly enough but Cassandra felt a faint sense of something being _off_ and she could not put her finger on it. It was hard to tell who was speaking at any moment, their words just rolled together and became one and it worried the girl that for a second she couldn't tell her mother's voice from Lady Briarwood's. Mama had never acted like this, though Cassandra had never really met any of her mother's friends. She wasn't sure she _had_ any friends. Lady Johanna treated everyone for what they were. A visiting Count... a wealthy Cleric... a third son, not meant to inherit anything but a title and a few gold a year... there was a clearness to Lady Johanna that Cassandra both resented and admired. Even her own children were little Ladies and Lords and not... _children_. 'Perhaps I should have been born a few years earlier and befriended my Mother at a ball.' Cassandra thought with a huff, 'Then she might actually like me.'

 

All at once her own thoughts made her feel ill. She had never allowed herself to think those things about her Mother. Lady Johanna was not _warm_ but she was certainly not cruel and she was fond of all her children in her own way. She _did_ love them and you could tell. Cass knew that. She had memories of being rocked to sleep with lullabies, so her mother must have held her once... but it might as easily been Vesper she was remembering. She frowned at the two women, bitter at being invisible in the face of their friendship.

 

“And I?” Lady Delilah's smile turned a bit hard.

 

“Children? Have you any? I'm sure your position as Lady of-”

 

“-Wildmount-”

 

“-Yes, Wildmount, with your husband-”

 

“-My Dear Sylas-”

 

“-You must have left your eldest at home-”

 

“-Our eldest? No. No children yet. We haven't been as blessed as you-”

 

“-Yes, utterly blessed. We've an heir and a spare, and a half dozen or more to keep our halls warm-”

 

“-So many!” Cassandra watched as a shade of something which looked like pain stole the Lady Briarwood's smile. “I...” The woman faltered.

 

“-Beloved... you might allow our hostess a moment to breath. She must be most put out, unexpected visitors, and all.”

 

Lord Briarwood had not spoken up until this point, and Cassandra could see him move forward to take his wife's arm. From the moment they touched Cass knew that her daydreams would have to be amended. She knew her fantasies had been that of a child, and now she seemed to understand what a fantasy truly was. There was a connection between the Briarwoods that took her breath away. Lord Briarwood seemed to forget that Lady de Rolo stood there between them and his eyes were for his wife alone, his hand briefly stroked his wife's cheek and she melted into his touch. Like a potion, with his arm around her waist, it was all as if nothing had gone wrong. Cassandra burned more red than if they had undressed in front of her. She felt like she had seen something that an outsider should not. Not something _wrong_ exactly, but certainly intimate and raw. She glanced at her mother to see what her reaction might be but if the Lady Johanna was in anyway affected by what she had seen, she certainly didn't show it. Cassandra realized with relief that the strange wine softness her Lady mother had displayed eiarlier was entirely gone. The mother Cassandra knew was back as if she had never been gone.

 

“Of course you'll be needing rooms. You must stay the night- you much stay the month! It will be our dear twins' birthday soon. You haven't met them. Whitney and Oliver, they're turning fifteen... And Cassandra not late after!”

 

The whole time the women had talked Cassandra had waited with her eyes as downcast as she could make them and her hands clasped behind her back as she had been taught to do when grown ups conversed and you were not invited into the conversation. She caught on, as the women and Lord Sylas began to walk away, that her mother had forgotten she was there. She did not extend her hand, nor look to Cass to indicate she should walk with them. Cassandra had been neither invited nor dismissed. With an angry roll of her eyes and knowing no one could see her act, she looked down at herself to make sure she had not, in fact, become one with the tapestry behind her. Despite herself she felt hot tears prick at her eyes. Remember, if you will, she was only twelve and she felt things very deeply. Its usually only in one's late twenties when one learns how not to feel.

 

Lady Briarwood turned around just as they reached the doorway. She extended her free hand to Cassandra and her expression was guileless and kind. “Cass, dearest, aren't you coming?”. Something hot and... not entirely pleasant, burned in Cassandra's chest. She ran forward to join the group, and despite her dirty clothes, Lady Briarwood put an arm around her waist and and took a half step away from the group so she could join the girl. “I expect you to give me a tour of your home. I imagine you know a bit more about it than your parents.”

 

The heat in her chest turned delicious and tasted of pride, Cassandra nodded, “I know it better than _anyone_.”

 

For someone who wanted so badly to be noticed, Cassandra was awfully shy around Lady Briarwood, who was unerring in her attention. Once the tour had finished which gave the servants enough time to prepare quarters for their guests, Lady Briarwood invited Cassandra to her rooms and offered to help her pin her hair up for dinner that night. Cassandra asked if perhaps she should invite Vesper and Whitney along and Lady Briarwood smiled at her like she had a secret and shook her head, saying that the other girls could wait for another night. It was Cassandra she wanted to speak to.

 

Heady with such blatant favouritism, Cassandra spent the rest of the evening in a haze. She stayed in the bath until it was freezing in an effort to get rid of all the dirt she had under her nails, behind her ears, ingrained into her palms, and caked in her hair. Her maid, shocked and encouraged by Cassandra's enthusiasm, managed to find a dress the girl had been gifted for her last birthday. At the time Cassandra had tried it on, discovered the stiffness of the corset and rejected the dress on principal. She had argued that should she need to run during dinner she would be unable to. She had pointed to the candles lit intermittently around the table and had explained that the lace and ribbons were highly flammable and she was not entirely certain anyone would be able to rescue her should her dress catch fire, all the oxygen that would _not_ be entering her lungs (on account of her crushed organs) would cause the flames to expand past what anyone would consider a reasonable risk for such a pretty dress. The poor garment had languished, ignored and abandoned, in her wardrobe and when Cassandra saw it laying on her bed with a few other options she had turned to the maid and nodded. It would be perfect.

 

Upon arrival at Lady Briarwood's rooms, Cassandra was pleased to find that the woman was not quiet in her approval of the dress and within moments had settled Cassandra on a chair and herself across from her. Dinner was to be in less than an hour and Cassandra did not mind arriving to dinner with her hair undone, but she did not quite like that she had been promised one thing and was being given another. She might have gone to Vesper first and then to Lady Briarwood if the Lady had only wanted to talk. Now Mother and Father would think she did not care about the impression she left on guests and she did not want that at all. Luckily, Lady Briarwood had a keen mind and realized quickly that the young woman was to remain restless in her company and she turn the chair towards a mirror and began to comb through Cassandra's long hair.

 

As she combed, Lady Briarwood watched the girl in the mirror. When she spoke, Cass kept her eyes down and her voice at a reasonable level. This was a girl who was rather different from the scrappy creature who had followed the carriage that morning. There was a stubborn tangle in Cassandra's hair. It was not uncommon for her to get knots and it was not uncommon for her maid to spend an hour sorting the locks to right, for if she was left to do it herself Cassandra would have torn half the hair out and cut out what could not be combed through. This was not entirely her fault. Both Whitney and Vesper had been blessed with their Father's hair: gentle waves, hair more straight than curly but that responded well to an iron. Cassandra had inherited her Mother's mop of unruliness. It did not help that she allowed the wind its way with her and that she did not like tight braids, for they made her head ache.

 

Lady Briarwood as not gentle. She watched the girl's face intently as she pulled. Cassandra's eyes watered. She did not cry out. Her breath was a bit sharper. Delilah tried again, this time she yanked hard enough to pull out a bit of hair. She saw Cass grit her teeth. She made no sound. With that, the knot was gone and Lady Briarwood was pleased. She was more kind now as she twisted the girl's hair into a simple plait. She instructed Cassandra to pass her the pins on the table in front of her and the girl instinctively reached for a pile of the dull black sort. Lady Delilah laughed and shook her head. 'Not those,' she told her, 'the pearl ones', and she turned her head to show Cass that she had a few holding her own hair up. The girl turned red and passed Lady Briarwood the pins as though they were precious. Within a few moments, her hair was up and the lady looked happy with her work. All of it.

 

Cassandra arrived at the dinner table trailing behind Lady Briarwood and her husband, who did nothing to alleviate the shyness that the youngest daughter demonstrated around his wife. In fact, by virtue of his handsomeness and gentlemanly nature, Cassandra was turning nicely pink and could only curtsey on cue and murmur, “Lord Briarwood, good evening” when prompted.

 

Vesper grinned at her little sister and nudged Julius who looked just a little too shocked. If Percy noticed a difference he didn't say anything, but Ludwig certainly did notice, for he knew his sister best and it was as if a stranger had wandered into their dining room and was speaking some strange form of Giant that could not easily be translated back. Oliver was busy examining his fingernails and Mother and Father were not down yet. Whitney looked delighted, utterly delighted. In her soft way, she came to Lady and Lord Briarwood and swept a curtsey, which Cassandra noticed was not at smooth as her own had been.

 

“We're so delighted to have you with us,” Whitney smiled her angel smile and Cassandra knew exactly what would happen, for she had seen it a hundred times.

 

It is worthwhile to pause here, for everyone knows a girl like Whitney and to understand her is to understand her tragedy. It is true that Whitney was not as quick or clever as her siblings. In truth, she was something else entirely, she did not care for wit for she was simple in the way that nature is simple. She knew what she knew and she knew it in her heart and the rest of what could be twisted was of little interest to her. Whitney was the sort who wept at spiders being crushed and who kissed cheeks because she felt her love quickly and strongly and so felt it must be expressed. People like Whitney are treasures and they are also burdens for they are fragile and bruise easily and people who have darkness in their hearts see such tenderness and goodness and desire only to mar it.

 

Cassandra should not have worried, Lady and Lord Briarwood would take a liking to Whitney of sorts and they would love to hear her scream, but Cassandra lived and Whitney did not, and so who was truly the lucky one of them both?

 

Dinner went smoothly that night. Cassandra's head killed her before the night was done and she would find a very sore spot on her head from Lady Briarwood's brush. This would not stop her from going to the woman almost every night to speak to her and have her tend to her hair. Cassandra would have a head full of sore spots before the month was out and she counted herself lucky to have such attention paid to her.

 

One night, after the Briarwoods had stayed with the De Rolos for three months or so, Lady Briarwood was taking her hair out of its coil before helping Cassandra. “My darling,” she said as she gently stroked Cassandra's cheek. “I'm very fond of you, you know.”

 

Lord Sylas was sitting at the edge of the bed. At first when he had remained present Cassandra had been uncomfortable and had excused herself almost immediately. The Briarwoods always gave the impression of intimacy even when they were fully dressed, on opposite sides of the room and silent. The atmosphere when they were together in their room and undressing for the night was almost overwhelming for a girl in the throes of puberty. Like many things that one thinks they cannot adjust to, however, Cassandra managed to get used to this. She was growing used to Lady Briarwood touching her waist and shoulder and face without asking and without thought. The night before, Lord Sylas had run a hand through Cassandra's mane of hair and told her that he thought she might be quite lovely once she grew up a little. Her skin had broken out in goosebumps but she had held steady. It's not that such things felt inappropriate, so much as she _knew_ they were. They gnawed on her mind when she was away from the Briarwoods, but she seemed to forget her doubts as soon as she was again in their company.

 

Even here, now, Cassandra could do nothing but nod as her hands methodically combed out the last of the braids in her hair.

 

“I worry, sweetheart that you are not so fond of us. You seem cold at times. You do not show me where you spend most of your time, as you promised.”

 

Cassandra looked up with alarm. “You cannot doubt my affection,” she said, and behind her Lord Sylas was coming closer and he smirked at her desperation. “My family is not effusive in our fondness but we are all so happy to have you here. Most of all me, I cannot imagine it is unclear to you.”

 

Lady Briarwood looked upset and Cass took her hands in her own and peered up at her face which seemed to her to be as flawless as they day they met and yet to be filled with pain.

 

“I only wish you would trust us with your heart, dearest Cass. Often times we look for you and you are gone and no one can find you. Where do you go?”

 

Cassandra felt a part of her fight her response, she did not wish to tell the Briarwoods all she had found about Whitestone. It was a secret that she held close to her, and a thing of pride that she could not yet imagine revealing. On the other hand, there was no one she felt more open to telling than Lady Delilah. In the weeks the Briarwoods had spent with them, Cassandra had drifted from Vesper and confided all into her new friend. It was not the first time that the Briarwoods had asked Cassandra to tell them about the secret passages of Whitestone. She had brushed their interest aside as a kindness they paid her, pretending such things would matter to them simply because they mattered to her. On her thirteenth birthday they had organized a picnic for her right near the Sun tree and over champagne had asked again. Blurry with the bubbles, Cassandra had almost acquiesced but the longer she spent with the Briarwoods, the more resistant she was to the idea. Lady Briarwood had turned cross and sharp on that day before her husband had soothed her. Cassandra had pretended not to notice.

 

Now, she saw the tenderness with which Lady Briarwood regarded her and was more confident in her affections for her. She could not think of a single reason not to show her new family, for she did think of them as family now, all that she had discovered. She hated upsetting Lady Briarwood, and could not bring herself to do so again.

 

“Perhaps before the banquet.” She said cautiously.

 

Lady Delilah again placed a gentle hand to Cassandra's cheek. Cassandra knew that Lady Briarwood was keen for the banquet in their honour. The De Rolos had hosted the pair long enough to establish a friendship and alliance that now demanded validation and their neighbours all would come to a Ball that Lady De Rolo and Lady Vesper had been weeks planning.

 

“That would mean the world to me, little one.”

 

Cassandra felt Lord Sylas touch her waist with his whole hand and she had not even realized he was behind her and gotten so close. Lady Briarwood leaned forward and placed a motherly kiss to Cassandra's lips. Cassandra shuddered with a sense of something being terribly wrong and terribly wonderful.

 

“I should go.” She said.

 

“Don't forget your promise.” Lady Briarwood said.

 

As she fled to her rooms, Cassandra could not for the life of her calm her beating heart, nor did she remember have made a promise at all. It worried her that often she returned to her rooms with a sense of foreboding but she could not place why or when it had started. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and saw that her lip was bleeding. She wiped it away.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the banquet. (that's why this one is a bit shorter, I didn't want to muddy them by combining the two) as always, let me know what you think!

After the events of that evening Cassandra would wonder if she could allot any of the thing to fate. She was destined to spend the whole of her life bent double under the knowledge that she had managed a great deal of the suffering bestowed upon her kin, the only other option was to look at the gods and curse their fickleness and mercurial nature rather than lay flat under the weight of her complicity.

 

Strong creatures are prone to statements of grandeur that involve picking up something beyond the weight they can safely carry and carrying it anyway, thereby growing stronger through pain, will, and tenacity. Cassandra would disagree, as was her nature. For every one who managed this task, there was ten who were bent and broken under their own weight. Proper training, as anyone knows, involves steps and sweat and progress. Perhaps this is why, for years and years of her life ( I do not feel bothered to tell you that Cassandra will live, though to call it living is not an assessment of the situation that she would agree with) Cassandra would feel laid flat as paper and twice as thin by the sins she had wrought.

 

In the days before the banquet Cassandra grew discomfited by the Lord and Lady Briarwood and was seen less in their company, and more in that of her family. I do not suggest soliciting the affection of one's family by currying favour with another, but in the case of the youngest de Rolo, it did seem to work. Whitney and Oliver and Ludwig were impressed by the change in their sister. Her hair was often up now, and neatly too. She protested little in classes and antagonized the servants less with her antics. She had grown a bit paler and more quiet and she followed the Briarwoods around like a ghost until suddenly stopping without explanation.

 

Vesper grew dismayed to find, Cassandra again presenting herself at night to have her hair pinned up, that her sister had bruises and sore spots all on her crown and further that there were little spots of bruising under her arms and on her back. Cassandra could offer no explanation for this and seemed distressed to find them. Vesper knew her sister to have mastered simple deception quite young but she found herself believing the cracks of betrayal she saw on her sister's face and asked no more for fear of upsetting her further. That night, for no reason that she could give, Cassandra crawled into Vesper's bed as she had done when she was very, very young and snuggled her cold feet against her sister's warm legs.

 

“What are you doing, little one?” Vesper mumbled sleepily, making room for her sister's body.

 

“Nightmares.” Cassandra replied and she could feel the new bruises on her thighs smarting as her sister used what the Briarwoods had called her on their first day. “I won't stay long.”

 

Vesper let her sleep until midday, telling the rest of their family that Cassandra was ill.

 

The week before, though every part of her was screaming not to do so, Cassandra had met the Briarwoods for a private breakfast. The two of them watched her with a mixture of pride and possessiveness that made the girl restless and inattentive to their words and needs, something that displeased her friends greatly, though they hid it from her as best they could. Poor Cassandra was fighting the discordant parts of her in a way that was not nearly enough or soon enough and perhaps if she had been a bit stronger in this one thing, she might have altered her story to give it a happy ending. That being said, she was not and she did not, and therefore let's not call her 'Poor Cassandra' for she had done nothing to earn the title.

 

Cassandra thought that Lady and Lord Briarwood would mind the dirt and tightness of her secret passages much more. She was small and would always remain small even once she hit her grown height, but Lady Briarwood was not and Lord Sylas certainly was not. They nonetheless followed her without a word of complaint. They emanated an air of deep satisfaction that verged on excitement. It was not the delighted curiosity that Cassandra had felt during her own exploration and she did not recognize the emotion in them. It felt like the couple that she had come to adore in their months at Whitestone had shed their skin and turned into another thing entirely, though she did not have a finger to put on it at the time. At the time she had found herself feeling like a stranger but she had not recognized the hammering in her heart as a warning of danger and she had shut it down as thoroughly as she could. They had been so kind to her, had made her feel so wanted and this in turn was all they asked.

 

She could not remember when she had first discovered the Ziggurat that lay beneath Whitestone. Her siblings who had first set her on her path had never mentioned it and so Cassandra was sure that she alone knew of it. She had first discovered a room too dark to see, even when she blinked and blinked it never got lighter, the absence of light had encompassed everything but she had needed to return and so had marked the walls with chalk and tried again a week later with a flint and a torch. It had taken her almost an hour to make the torch light but she had eventually managed it and extended her arm as high as she could. The place had reverberated in her. Even with her torch blazing, the dark seems to absorb the brightness and she felt a sense of suffocating. She found it unpleasant though it felt neither menacing nor welcoming, only alien. She had since visited the place once or twice but never stayed too long past whatever exploration she had outlined for herself that day. She had hoped to show it to Lady Delilah and Lord Sylas and for them to admire her tenacity and finish immediately. It was not so.

 

Lady Briarwood was in general someone who radiated a sort of tangible energy and she seemed suddenly to burn with a darkness that frightened Cassandra and made her shrink from her and her husband. Lord Sylas too looked stronger and almost inhuman. They turned grotesque before her eyes without shifting significantly at all. When Delilah turned to Cassandra with gratitude in her eyes, she found the girl had pressed herself against the walls of the Ziggurat and was shaking uncontrollable.

 

“My dearest,” she said and embraced the girl, “You cannot know what you have given us.”

 

Cassandra began to cry, feeling at once as if she had shifted into a nightmare. The light of the torches reflected upon the Lord and Lady and turned them into demons before her. “We should not be here. It is wrong. It feels wrong. We should go.” She turned desperately to Lord Sylas for help but he grinned at her and she saw that his teeth looked white and sharp in the darkness.

 

“You're troubled, Cassandra.” He said and it sounded to her like gloating.

 

She felt bile rise up in her throat and the wrongness of it all settled around her and in her. They left her there, sinking against the wall and on the ground as they explored the gift that she had given them as easily as baring her throat to an animal's fangs. As her friends grew stronger, Cassandra grew weaker. Her head felt light and she was shaky and they were not helping her. They were not even looking at her. She was a ragdoll, bloodless and boneless.

 

When she woke, Cassandra was in her bed and she was clean and weightless and the world shifted violently to rights. It was a knock on her door that woke her. She came to standing and felt for a moment that she might slip right into the darkness again before finding her sea legs upon the marble floor. She might have lost her balance again had she known Percy was on the other side of her door.

 

“This is yours.” He said and handed her several sheets of parchment that had been bound together by a single corner. “Professor Anders gave it to me. We have similar writing and it does not have a name. None of our siblings have claimed it.”

 

Cassandra reached for the pages and skimmed over her writing which did share a certain slant and impatience to the shape of the letters with her brother's similarly barely legible script. It seemed years since she had written the essay and presented it for grading to their tutor and she was vaguely surprised to find the grade was high and his notes at the end encouraging.

 

“It's well written, Sister, your thesis is grounded and your reasoning does not jump as much as it used to.”

 

Cassandra frowned at the pages and then up at him. He was a foot taller than her and almost a stranger. He had soot across his nose and when she reached up to clean it off he was sturdy and warm and her tenuous grip on the world was strengthened.

 

“That's high praise. Thank you.”

 

They both stood there for a moment, awkward and silent and trapped in a doorway. Cassandra looked again at the essay and found a spelling error which absorbed her attention for several relieving seconds. She felt her brother's hand on her cheek and she pulled away abruptly, remembering a colder hand gripping her still in that same spot. Percy looked startled.

 

“I'm sorry. You're looking better. Are you still feeling ill?”

 

“Ill?”

 

“The Briarwoods said you collapsed while taking your breakfast with them. We let you sleep the day.”

 

“Of course.” Cassandra tangled her fingers in her hair to hide their shaking. “I'm feeling much better. Thank you.”

 

Percy peered at her through his glasses and lifted a hand as though to touch her before thinking much better of it. “You've scratches on your neck. They've bled. Would you like me to get you a kerchief?”

 

“No, thank you. I have one of my own. I must have scratched myself in my sleep.” Cassandra inclined her head and went to close the door. Percy frowned and reached for her hand which had no blood under the nails at all. Cassandra stared at him and he dropped her hand. Without another word, he nodded and turned his back to her.

 

That night the Briarwoods did not come down to dinner and Cassandra was relieved. She let her hair loose to cover the deep pin pricks on her neck and her family tactfully refused to ask. The next night they were graced again by the Briarwoods who asked after Cassandra's health and who had spent a few minutes of the day asking her to join them for a walk in the gardens. Cassandra was quiet and did not look into anyone's eyes and Julius took the opportunity to announce that he had invited the Lady Violet Bellio to the banquet as a possible match for himself. Cassandra had met the Lady Violet and thought her plain but brilliant and she appreciated her brother taking the attention on to himself. She looked forward to the banquet and ball in hopes that once the event had passed, the Briarwoods too would leave them. The de Rolos were no less gracious or pleased with their guests but it had begun to feel like a fine varnish had started to crack on the picture they presented. Vesper and Whitney were still delighted by all Lady Delilah taught them and gifted them from her own things, and Lady Johanna was no less warm to her childhood friend. it was almost impossible to see what exactly had begun to fray, but fray it had and no efforts were made to reverse the damage. Cassandra was glad.

 

She would remain glad until the night of the banquet.

 

Her choice in dress was severely limited by the bruising that she woke with each morning. She assumed, like the scratches on her neck, that she was thrashing in her sleep which had indeed become more and more fitful of late, she had continued to believe that until she had begun to notice a pattern like fingers wrapped around her arm. She asked Professor Anders about it, whether he thought it might be possible that she was grabbing at herself and not know it in her sleep. He had smiled and told her it was common for teens to sleep badly and go through phases. She had realized after asking that the thumb was on the wrong side for it to be her own hand that had bruised her.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys. HUGE trigger warning for violence, blood, glore and graphic descriptions for all of the above. This is the longest single chapter I've written in ages and I wanted to do it justice, please keep yourselves safe though. Things get bloody. 
> 
> If you're enjoying this or would like to see anything else, let me know! Thank you all.

 

Cassandra was very nicely dressed for the ball. She was nicely dressed and heavily corseted, and as she once feared, it did make running difficult. There's something that is not often told to young ladies, which is because it is often not told to anyone, but as young ladies are held to a higher standard it often affects them most. This thing is that perfection takes time. In truth perfection is impossible, but the appearance of perfection, which is as close as one can come, can take nearly as long as perfection which is an eternal struggle. All this to say that Cassandra was late to the banquet. She did not have any wine with dinner, because she was not given a wine goblet on account of her tardiness, and so she drank only water. She had no great love of wine, so this did not bother her, and she was very busy examining the Lady Violet for her suitability as a future sister-in-law.

 

Lady Violet was not pretty, but in her plainness she had a certain charm. Her smile was earnest, and Cassandra liked watching her dance with Julius because she was not a very good dancer and they spent most of the ball stepping on each others toes and laughing and it made some of the older and stuffier folks who bumped into them upset. Cass would always like a sister-in-law who could laugh at herself, and the one time she caught Julius' eyes, she grinned and nodded at him. He had a slight sheen of sweat and looked just a bit pale, but she thought that was what love and a lot of dancing might look like so she said nothing. Whitney was also dancing without stop and she was always pale and never seemed to sweat and she had a glisten as well. It was very warm in the ballroom, and it had been very warm at the banquet and everyone was very well fed. Cassandra did not have many partners which didn't bother her much. She was graceful enough, but still young and not a prospective wife just yet. Cassandra did not think that Whitney should be a prospective wife just yet either, but people often make exceptions when they are presented with something as lovely as Whitney looked that night.

 

Cassandra felt her back start to get sticky with sweat and she simply couldn't imagine how the rest of the guests were feeling. She took a turn around the room with Great Uncle Joseph who had gone very red from the tips of the ears to the end of his nose, but otherwise seemed to be holding his liquor much better than he had at the past banquet where he had single highhandedly broken at least three of the crystal flutes and two fine china plates. Everyone looked in high spirits. It was unmistakeably a success, this ball. From her vantage point she could see that the Briarwoods were surrounded by admirers and sycophants and it made her feel covered from their gaze which in turn allowed her a sort of freedom that she revelled in. For their part, Lady Johanna and Lord Fredrick were barely aware of their youngest daughter who had helped herself to three slices of cake and had sampled a glass filled with brandy and found it not to her taste but used it to wash down the cake anyway. She had felt sick with dread at dinner and hadn't eaten much but now she was finding that she was starving and growing more relaxed by the second. The taste of champagne still made her feel vaguely nauseous but it was certainly more refreshing than brandy or wine. It didn't bother her that other lips had touched the glasses she drank from. The Briarwoods had polished her up but she was still a youngest daughter at heart.

 

Vesper halted this mischievous dinner of hers. “You look like you've eaten the whole cake, Cassie. Please tell me you've left some for our guests.”

 

Vesper was draped in a long dress of plum velvet, draped being the optimal word for it as the dress went long and high in the front and longer and lower in the back in a fashion that was just short of scandalous and looked just an errant step on the train from slipping right off Vesper's willowy frame. In comparison to her sister, Cassie saw that even with her corset pulled tight, she was stocky and in a strange phase of growth where her face was rounded and child like and her stomach and hips and chest too were softer than she had known them but her limbs were coltish and prevented from pure awkwardness only by her training and upbringing. Vesper was too polite to say it outright but Casssandra didn't need any cake. She needed to wash her face, drink a large mug of water and set herself to bed.

 

Vesper too, like most of her family and a great many of the guests, looked pale and a bit less robust than Cassie would have liked. It was not like Vesper to hide their father's brawny complexion under powders. Cass narrowed her eyes at how heavily her sister leaned against the table she stood against but she was still smarting from the cake comment so she didn't ask Vesper how she felt. She was fizzy with stolen liquor and sugar and bored with the admonishments that Mama Vesper was obligated to give. In a parable, for her selfishness, Cassandra would end this story with the weight of her final words to her sister being the following: “Oh. Do please stop fussing Vesper. It was you who wanted so to have fun tonight, Don't let's ruin it for everyone else.” It would be exactly the sort of unkind thing a sister might say to another sister who she did very much love, and the sort of thing indeed that would haunt one's conscience forever. This story allows Cassandra one small mercy in this regard. Those were indeed the final words of any coherence she said to her beloved sister, but it was not the last thing that passed between them.

 

Vesper kissed the top of Cassandra's head absentmindedly and just a little bit rumpled and left her there to join in another dance. Cassandra drank her sister's water which tasted wonderfully of freshness and a moment of cool clarity. Once she finished it, she reached for another glass hoping to find some more but she found only wine. She was hot and frustrated and overtired and she considered drinking the wine to ease her thirst but before she had made a choice she found her hands covered by the cool and dry palms of Lady Briarwood who took the cup from her and placed it firmly on the table.

 

“I feel as thought you're avoiding me, sweetheart.”

 

There was no falsehood in her tone. No irony, nothing to hint at the predatory face she wore in Cassandra's nightmares. In fact, with each day Cassandra spent out of her company, Lady Briarwood grew meeker and more accommodating. She never quite brought herself down to the point of asking Cassandra back into her circle, but neither did she reject the teen or present anything less than a desire to make their bond strong once more.

 

“I wouldn't think of it,” Cassandra murmured, sinking into a curtsey that pressed her corset into her full stomach. “We're all overwhelmed with our school work of late, Madame, it leaves little time for even the dearest of friendships.”

 

Lady Briarwood nodded kindly and scanned her gaze over the crowd, allowing it to land on Professor Anders who was dressed in grey and quietly chatting with another gentleman of a sort that can only be described as 'scholarly'. “Perhaps we should speak with Professor Anders about the weight of your studies. One cannot allow books to block oneself from the world.”

 

“Nor neither allow the world to turn one senseless to written words of wisdom.” Cassandra sounded like she was agreeing but her expression was sour. “Things are written down because they are important. To ignore that is foolhardy. I don't mind working hard.”

 

Lady Briarwood's face took on the look of marble at the word 'foolhardy' and Cassandra saw her wrath ignite and get tamped down in the time it takes to breath in and breath out. Her lips were hard when she turned her eyes again to Cassandra, “You're a bright little thing, sweetling, but watch your boots fit you before you try to strut in them. It's a flaw you must watch out for.”

 

Cassandra knew better than to argue that she knew her flaws perfectly well, thanks, and her intelligence was not one of them. She would have happily listed the rest for Lady Briarwood, but she did not pressed her luck. “I'm sure you're right, My Lady.”

 

Lady Briarwood took the glass of wine from the table and briefly held it before putting it back down. “Don't drink the wine, Cass, my love. I fear it's gone off.”

 

As quickly as she had appeared, she was gone and Cassandra was unsettled and hot and thirsty still.

 

By three past midnight the hall was greatly cleared and Cassandra had consented to dancing with her brothers and Father and her feet were very sore and she was very tired. Whitney and Oliver were both half asleep on a divan that had been stained at least four different colours and Percy was reading in the corner but he had made a very fine show of being social so no one much minded. Vesper was deep in conversation with Lady Violet whose waist Julius had his arm around in a show that was barely proper and made Cassandra very happy. Cassandra had just managed to get the Gnome bard who alone had stayed of the band to play a particularly bawdy version of ' _Moon O' er My Hearth'_ and her and Ludwig were loudly and badly singing alone with gnome when Ludwig bent double and grabbed Cassandra by the arms hard enough to keep from falling. Lady Violet did not have a chance to do so before she collapsed to the floor. Cassandra saw with horror that she was pale and her eyes were rolling to the back of her head. Lady Violet jerked artlessly for a few grotesque moments before growing still and boneless on the floor.

 

Ludwig stayed on his feet, but barely. The handful of guest that remained look around, confused... except for the one or two who were similarly affected... and then except for the one or two or three or four who did not look confused at all. The ones that looked prepared. Cassandra fell to her knees under the weight of her brother who had started to clutch his throat. She called his name and he dragged his nails through her skin. Professor Anders came running as Cassandra screamed. Before she could do anything, she saw that he held a knife that had been over-sharpened. She would remember this detail for the rest of her life because things suddenly turned very slow and she saw the knife very clearly in the light and it looked like it had been sharped past the actual edge, methodically and nervously. It was not a good knife but neither was Ludwig's throat particularly unyielding. Cassandra shut her mouth abruptly as she tasted hot blood and felt the spray of her brother's life soak into her hair and skin and dress. The world moved on very slowly and she turned to Professor Anders in shock. She felt like she was still in class when she asked in a tone that was almost curious, “Why did you do that?”

 

He looked down at her and she saw that he hated her and the realization did not cause her to despair as it should have because she cradled the heavy and warm body of her dead brother in her arms and all of his blood, of which there was more than she could have ever imagined, was turning her dress from cream to red and it created a moat around her that made her feel safe for no reason that made sense.

 

“He was suffering. I'm not heartless.” It did not look like kindness on his face. It was sneer, he was proud of himself. He felt very brave indeed, slitting the throat of a fourteen year old boy. Cassandra extended her arm to him and he acted on instinct and reached for her hand to help her to stand. If either of them had thought for a moment beyond what had just happened, this would not have been their reaction but they were both moving like sleepwalkers. Cassandra felt her tutor's hand in her own and she tried to stand and slipped on the blood and tried again and then she pulled Professor Anders very roughly, as she had always imagined doing and he slid on the gore he had spilled. Cassandra pulled her family's tutor's hand straight and slammed the whole weight of her body backwards on his elbow. She felt a satisfying snap. She had forgotten about the knife which Professor Anders still carried, but he was not a man accustomed to pain and she was too numb to feel anything other than abstract horror and the knife cut deep into her shin but Cassandra did not note it. She kicked the man's head as she walked by him and he was momentarily still.

 

All felt like a lifetime's worth of action but it was not. If I had to give my best estimate, it would amount to perhaps thirty seconds, maybe a minute, but likely not more than that. A great many things were happening around Cassandra as her dress _drip dripped_ on the ground. Kerrion Stonefell, who was a guard of little note except that the sisters thought him handsome and charming, was holding Vesper back as she struggled to get to Julius and screamed bloody murder through even bloodier lips. Julius had a face that was already bloodied almost beyond recognition and the rage he howled with completed the transformation. He kept ducking and feigning, trying to get close enough to Lord Sylas to kill him, but the Lord had a sword and a dagger and Julius did not. Lord Sylas had a single long scratch along his cheek that did not bleed. Julius was bathed in his own blood. Lady Violet on the ground was turning blue and Cassandra watched helplessly as a goliath stepped on her hand as he went to assist Lord Sylas.

 

The large male Goliath, who Cassandra did not recognize, picked up her brother in his arms and something in Julius cracked just like Professor Ander's arm had cracked. Julius was dumped carelessly on the ground. He was still alive, Cassandra could see that he breathed shallowly, but for all his strength and all his goldenness, he could not move. Cassandra could not scream but Vesper could. Her sister screamed and screamed and fought Stonefell like the she-wolf she was. Cassandra saw Vesper turn herself around and bite a significant chunk from her attacker's neck before spitting it out at him. Kerrion Stonefell whined like a hunting dog and twisted Vesper's arms behind her until she screamed.

 

Cassandra was transfixed by the carnage: her Lord Father clutched his own arm to his body while what was left of the rest of his shoulder twitched and bled. That same Goliath that had broken her brother had taken his greatsword, a thing that was almost twice as long as Cassandra, and cleaved Lord Fredrick in two. Now Cassandra could see that her father was pulling himself away from what remained of his leg. She could not imagine such a choice. ' _Would I have taken my foot?'_ she wondered as she bent double and was sick on the floor. ' _Arm weighs less. One could live without their feet but father would not be able to write without his hand. Hold tight father. Hold on._ '

 

From the corner of her eye, as she heaved all that cake and brandy onto the floor, Cassandra was aware of her glorious mother battling Lady Delilah. Like her husband, Lady Johanna held one arm clutched against her chest, and it smoked a bitter black but it was still attached. Lady Delilah looked mad and undone and she bled which made Cassandra hopeful. Lady Johanna was fearsome and Cassandra was certain that she would triumph, she could not imagine a world in which she would not.

 

Percy's spectacles were on the ground and shattered and his hair and arms was held tightly by a lady half-orc who made sure he could see what was becoming of his family but who held on too tightly for him to do anything about it. Cassandra thought about going to Percy and trying to help him but his eyes staring back at her were hopeless and blank and Cassandra did not think she would be able to do more than increase his suffering. Percy caught her eyes and for a second blinked and then cast his gaze to her right. Cassandra reached for the knife still lying beside Ludwig and wiped its bloody handle on her dress. She turned around to see what Percy saw but there was no danger that she could tell. She could feel the traitorous guard beginning to close in on her, but not thinking her to be dangerous at all. She did not move quickly but kept trying to see what Percy saw. _There_! Hiding beneath the table cloth of the banquet table, she could just see the edge of Whitney's dress. A trail of smeared blood marked the path she had taken. A male hand pulled the dress back from sight. Oliver too, then. They were safe for now. Cassandra looked back at Percy to show him that she understood but he had been dragged from the room and she did not know if he was alive or not.

 

Julius' laboured breathing and Vesper's shrieks were all that Cassandra could hear. She spun in a circle and saw that her father and mother were collapsed on each other. Lady Delilah had made a smoking crater out of Lady Johanna's belly. Cassandra felt like lightning was slipping up her back and into her head. She rushed at Lady Delilah only to feel Lord Sylas pull her back by her skirts. She pulled the fabric from his grasp and rushed at Stonefell who held Vesper folded in two on the ground, her arms held tied behind her in a position that was not natural and contorted her body. He had cut her back with his sword and Vesper just kept trying fruitlessly to crawl to Julius and their parents. She was sobbing, sobbing, sobbing. Cassandra wondered why her own eyes were dry and aching. There were a few bodies she recognized strewn over the floor but beyond any doubt the target of the massacre had been the de Rolos. She saw the loyal captain of their guard with his armour cracked open like a lobster's back and with his meat all pouring out. It meant nothing to her. Nothing she could process. Cassandra threw herself on Vesper's back, pressing her face to her sister's wounds. She felt a blinding pain on her spine and across her legs, something like being whipped but more blunt. Vesper's voice was ragged as she whispered 'N-no...” and Cassandra turned herself to look at her attacker. Kerrior Stonefell gazed at her with uncontainable disgust. The pleasure he had gotten from terrorizing Vesper, she obviously did not provide. He raised his arm and struck her again with the flat of his blade. Cassandra again was aware of that distinct crack of bones breaking. The sword glinted as he flushed with rage at her response which was quiet and made entirely of shock, the flat turned into the edge and he lifted the sword to stab the two of them through.

 

“Stop!”

 

Lady Delilah extended her hand and with Lord Sylas beside her there was no arguing her authority.

 

“Not the girl.”

 

“Not Vesper!” Cassandra found her voice and at once found she was as full of tears as she was certain she was full of blood ready to be drained. “Not my sister, please. Please not her.” The half Orc woman pulled Cassandra from Vesper by her hair so roughly that she tore some of it straight from the scalp. Cassandra begged from under a bloody brow.

 

Julius' breaths rattled in his bones and he could only move his neck to see the undeserving sword of a turncoat guard skewer his sister. The older one. The younger one screamed so loudly that he thought the windows might shatter from her grief alone. He heard a roar of rage and the sound of a blade falling and he saw from the corner of his eye that Cassandra had sliced off her hair and a single orc finger with the blade she held and had started to run for the hallway.

 

“ _Now.”_ She screamed, seemingly senseless. And who could fault her for her broken mind? Who could live with such sights? She was soaked through with the blood of her family. Poor Cassandra. Poor, poor Cassandra.

 

Julius did not see the next part but he heard two more pairs of feet take off after Cassandra's sticky steps. He would not have recognized, nor dared to hope that the pair of footsteps trailing his baby sister might belong to the twins, but they did. The twins in their unison and refusing to part were running hand in hand behind Cassandra, slowed by their pairing but strengthened by it as well. Perhaps they too should have seen what Cassandra saw, for she was fast as all the fear that courses through her tiny body, and they were slow and unsure. Lady Delilah sent a flash of dark lighting towards the two and it crashed close to Whitney's pretty, pale head. She stumbled and fell. Cassandra cried out ' _Hurry. Hurry!”_

 

Oliver, as he had promised covered his sister with his whole body. Together in birth and together in death, he thought. Or he might of thought if he had been able to think at all. It would have have encompassed the idea that pulled his cells into action to protect his sister and his soul-mate. The strike of lightning burned right into his heart and forced the life from him with only a soft ' _Oh_.'

 

Whitney, for the rest of her short days would carry a mark burned into her back. The life and death of her brother branded into her shoulder blade with all the agony such a thing carried. This might have made delicate Whitney break, but it was nothing compared to the realization that she was alone and had lost her second half in as little time as it had taken to call out his name. She could hear Cassandra telling her to run, she was yelling and screaming, but Whitney did not. Whitney cradled her brother to her chest and did not weep and was the bravest of them all in that moment. She looked up to meet the eyes of her brother's murderer. “Will you do me next then? How would you prefer me?Shall I stand upright? Or may I kneel here? I would prefer to kneel.”

 

They pulled her to her feet and threw her brother's body over someone's shoulder like a sack of pulses and dumped both of them (for Whitney would not be parted) in a cell well below the light of the rising sun. Percy was in there too. The cells were too far away for them to speak easily and neither much wanted to speak. Whitney was gagged after she began to sing lullabies to her brother.

 

Julius was left on the floor with the rest of his family, forgotten in his frozen state. He was not in pain for he could not feel anything. His best guess was that they would burn him or bury him in a mass grave with the rest of the bodies. He hoped the end would come soon. He hoped he died before he was burned. He hoped they would not realize he was still alive.

 

Julius waited there for a day. He grew thirsty but never hungry, his neck did ache from the angle they had left him at but he did not make a sound. The Ballroom was abandoned and quiet the whole day. Julius began to grown strange in the head. He could smell the bodies of his family. He could feel himself dying slowly and tortuously. He prayed to the Raven Queen. He prayed to every god he could remember. He almost tried to speak through sandpaper lips but found he could not, even if someone might have heard him. He grew less restless in the dark. Through his throbbing head, he could hear just the slightest sound of footsteps. Soft, like a cat. Cassandra.

 

The youngest de Rolo had shed her dress and corset and had wound the cleanest of her rags around her injured legs and had made a makeshift sling for her arm. Most of her shift was still white except for the blood that soaked the hem and ombred its way to her waist. Her hair was darker even then the black around her and stiff with blood. Her face, she had managed to clean slightly. She did not look from side to side, only padded her way to the banquet table and greedily drank enough water to be sick, and then started drinking again. Slower now. She gathered the scones and harder biscuits she could find and wrapped them in the cleanest corner of the table cloth she could find. She tucked the package into her sling.

 

“ _C-c...”_ Julius could not speak but he spooked Cassandra so badly that she grabbed a knife and held it to her own throat, her eyes wide with terror. It was almost a whole minute before she made her way to him, holding the knife in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

 

She did not speak. She opened and closed her mouth but nothing came out except an anguished croak. She tried to feed him water but he spit it back out. He gagged on the food she put in his mouth and eventually she stopped trying and sat beside him like a bloody ghost. Julius tried to form words and Cassandra leaned closer to him. She wanted to confide where she was staying (inside the walls and passages of Whitestone). She wanted to tell him who still lived of their family (Whitney and Percy and himself and her. One more than she had thought!) She wanted to tell him her plan (She would free Whitney and Percy and they would all run away and come back for vengeance once they were healed and grown and strong). She said none of these things because Julius was trying so hard to speak and because the thought of making sound made her feel so ill and scared she feared she might wet herself.

 

“ _K-Ki-”_

 

 _Shhhh,_ she mouthed. She pulled her older brother to her and cradled his head in her hands. She stroked his forehead like he was a child younger than her.

 

“ _Cass- Cass-”_

 

 _Shhhh,_ she mouthed. She was worried she knew was he would ask and that she would not be strong enough to do it for him.

 

“ _Cass... Kill me. You- Y- You_.”

 

 _Shhhh_ , she mouthed _._ Julius was aware of his sister's warm tears falling gently on his face like rain. He closed his eyes and he could hear her breath. He could feel her lips brush his forehead. She cut deep and she cut clean. He could barely feel the knife. Cassandra felt like Julius had already been dead and just waiting for someone to tell him. He didn't struggle. He didn't choke. He just died...

 

Like it was easy.

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for your lovely comments and feedback. I love hearing from you and will try to incorporate some of the formatting notes you mentioned (let me know if you prefer this formatting or would like the larger paragraph breaks back). Please enjoy but keep yourselves safe. This chapter is still pretty bloody.
> 
> Warnings for:
> 
> Death  
> Food mentions  
> blood  
> torture  
> some gore/ description of injury  
> possible body horror

The mess in the ballroom was cleaned up after two days. Cassandra preferred to think of it as a mess so she did not have to think of it as the remains of her family and close friends and their entrails and viscera. Cassandra had been expecting it so she had horded the stale scones and cake and water she had managed to scavenge before the situation with the guards was sorted and any sort of movement became increasingly difficult. She had also manage to take some fruit from the table but the cut fruit went bad and brought flies to her and the whole fruit was juicy and ripe and warm and it tasted like blood to her so she could not eat it, even after trying several times. It hurt to vomit and rats did not vomit so anything that was human and left in the tunnels was liable to lead people to her. She stopped eating the fruit.

Blood, she had not realized, did not stay sticky. It dried on her skin and hair and clothes and turned hard and crusty. It pulled at her skin and scalp and it hurt and in a thought that no sane person would have called healthy, Cassandra was somewhat glad of it because it made it clear that she was still alive and she genuinely wasn't sure at times. It wasn't a terrible thought; the idea that she might be a ghost. It wasn't a good thought but it wasn't terrible and she considered pouring all her remaining water on her head to scrub off the blood and make herself a spirit but she couldn't be sure that was how becoming a ghost worked. It is very possible that at this point she was feverish to the point where one would seek the help of a doctor if one became available but one was not available. A clever girl like Cassandra should have known to flee the castle before the guard rotation had cemented itself, and she knew that if she had done so, she would have a doctor to attend the infected wounds on her back, her broken ribs, and the leg that would not stop bleeding even though everything else had. Perhaps the doctor would have even been able to fix her mind which was well and truly shattered, but not in the Gothic and lovely way that a woman's mind is supposed to be shattered. Cassandra was not clean and dressed in white and delicate and simple and childlike. She felt no compulsion to find and handle glass trinkets and she did not get confused and overwhelmed when she heard the guards talk about the torture that her siblings were undergoing. She got angry and smashed things and then fled because smashing was loud and loud things led to guards coming to find her. She raged for the treatment of her siblings but she was a coward who did not know how to set them free without dying. She was in a great deal of pain, you see, and would have happily turned into a spirit if it was clean and easy and painless, but heroism rarely is and she wasn't sure she had the constitution left for it.

That changed by the sixth day of her new life. She was out of food and water and could not imagine living another day with the blood of her family on her skin. Their voices tormented her and she was itching so terribly that she started getting welts from her own torn fingernails. The first step in her plan, which was less of a plan and more of a series of tenuously tied together ideas, was bathing. She knew that the narrow tunnel which she could not have squeeze through a week ago, but could now just barely manage, would lead her to the armoury. The Armoury would be heavily guarded from the outside, but it would not be expected that she would emerge from the inside. She was not greedy with what she took. She could not be, she was weak and tired and her leg hurt to walk on to the point that she kept one arm handy for intermittently collapsing against walls which doubled as creative crutches. She first grabbed a dagger which she was saving specifically for Professor Anders' throat, she also grabbed a sword which felt heavy and unwieldy and which she imaged Percy embarrassing himself with. Her hope was that her third item would render the rest null and void.

It is misleading to say that the first step of Cassandra's plan was bathing, as she initially helped herself to the black powder in the armoury because she wanted to set it off, distract everyone in the castle and then bathe while they were busy being in turmoil. So the first step was the armoury, in this case. If you, dear reader, are rolling your eyes at the pure childishness of this plan, you would probably be right to do so. Perhaps I may interject here, however. I am loath to defend Cassandra, but she did believe she would be dead that night and she wanted to die clean. Perhaps we can forgive her for that.

The armoury had water in it. It was not a great amount of water, there was some in a bucket for putting out the torches and a bit more which had gone warm and tasted of clay and rested in a jug for the guards to refresh themselves. It had been forgotten but might be taken to the kitchen to be refilled at some point once someone realized why it existed. Cassandra spend two hours very slowly dipping her shift into the water and washing herself clean.

Once she could bear the sight of her skin she gathered her ill-gotten gains and wrapped them up carefully. It would not do to set herself off like a firework and leave her siblings to suffer. She was secure in that either she, or they, or all would die tonight but it would not do to leave accidentally. Death should be deliberate and in this case it would right a wrong. If they all must die it must be as a release, not a favour to their captors. She smiled to herself, for perhaps she might take the Briarwoods with her to hell.

There was a tunnel to the dungeons that Cassandra had never explored. She, in her past life, had never needed nor wanted to see the conditions in the dungeon. They kept traitors there, thieves who killed to gain, murderers, and conspirators. Cassandra had never thought in her life that the dungeons might be too merciful, she knew that what remained of their lives was painful and uncomfortable and she was secure in that anyone who found themselves in shackles deserved their fate but that she did not need to see it. For this reason the pathway was in shambles and reason would have stopped her from continuing without a torch to help her navigate. It was difficult to see what dangers there were and there were many. The walls were crumbling and grit turned her newly clean skin grey and white. Her leg was burning and weak but the water had helped her strength and she managed to stumble only every few feet or so. Her one arm was held in a sling and she did worry of all she had to do being done with only her right hand, but she could hear the sounds of screaming getting louder and louder the more she battled her path and so her right hand would have to do.

The sounds of torture stopped just as she got to a barred door. From where she stood it was as if all had frozen. She imagined a god watching her and holding time still only for her so she might think and wait and have a moment before she did something that could not be repaired. _I have murdered one brother_. She thought grimly, _What is one more?._ From here she could have set the black powder on fire and finished everything but something compelled her to put her weight against the door which creaked and groaned. It is likely a god or a demon was watching that day, for things do not creak and groan without gathering attention. Perhaps it was that Percival's chains were opposite the door and his view of his sister was clear (or at least somewhat clear. His glasses were long gone and his eyesight was poor), though he was given a rest from his torment, he rattled those chains and yelled so that Cassandra might approach the guard that watched him and slit his throat less gracefully than she had cut her brother's. Percy was sprayed with blood and he peered at her through eyes that lacked their spectacles and Cassandra stared back a long moment for she had gotten used to things not going as planned and the fact that her hands were wet with another creature's blood and that it was a good thing was not a thing that her shattered mind could wholly absorb.

 

“Where have they put your glasses?” She asked dumbly, “You cannot see without them.”

“Unchain me!” He said, “and quickly. We must get Whitney and run.”

Cassandra blinked. Of course. Of course they would run. Why would death be the only option? It struck her as strange that Percy, who had suffered, seemed hopeful for life, she who had gone free was certain of death.

Cassandra rummaged for keys and found three, the first two did not open her brother's shackles, but the last did and with another loud groan. Percy fell to his knees with a pained cry. Cassandra did not tell him to quiet any more than she had tried to quiet the door. Pain was a force of nature, she now understood. Her brother's hair looked pale in the dark. She left him there to compose himself and began to walk the length of the dungeons to find her sister.

It was Oliver she saw first before she saw the haunted eyes of her sister watching her from the dark. Oliver was dead, as he had been since the night of the slaughter. No god watched over _him_. Whitney was placed like a lioness, her fingernails stained with blood as she protectively shielded his body from Cassandra's eyes. Oliver smelled of decay. The cool of the dungeon had kept his skin from rotting but he was blue and sunken and his eyes were held shut with stones. Whitney did not move, save her eyes which shone white and blue and followed her sister.

“I will get you out.” Cassandra whispered and reached for the lock. Whitney held herself tight as a drawstring.

Now that she was closer, Cassandra could see that Whitney was blanched pale as bone. She was the wraith that Cassandra had expected to find in herself. She was missing three fingers and her thumb. Cassandra opened her sister's cage and saw that through some sorcery her sister lived and she was still lovely in the way that bone is lovely when it is a key on a piano. There was no sweetness left in Whitney. Only pain. Her legs were gone and replaced with some moving glass. Her shoulder too, was new and crystallized. Her eyes were pale because they could not see, though they could move and follow, it was clear that someone had tried to recreate their glow in china and had failed, perhaps they had regretted removing the glory that had come before.

Cassandra left the door open but she felt herself fall back and bile filled her mouth. There was no reason for what had been done to her sister but an ingenious cruelty and a sadistic curiosity. That such a person lived in this world and was allowed to work without punishment was a harsh a blow to her childish naivety as anything else she had yet seen.

Percy, who had been there to see this happen and was less affected than Cassandra pulled her roughly to her feet. Cassandra could barely feel her own body for witnessing such torture could only be a nightmare. Perhaps they were all dead and cursed and this was all they would experience from now until the end of time. “Whitney.” He said, and it was not soft but it was a call nonetheless. “We are free. We must go. Come with us.”

She tilted her head to the side like a little bird, and one had the sense that she was considering her brother with every sense she still possessed. Then her chin turned to her twin, and she waited another few moments before shaking her head.

“Whitney.” Cassandra's voice sounded like the scraping of stones, “He's gone and we are still here.”

Again their sister considered and it took hours and seconds and it was both too long a consideration and too short by far, for she came to the decision to stand and come to them. Cassandra took a step back in horror but Percy did not. She marvelled that he could still be brave.

Whitney was in pain. Her phantom limbs did not cushion, and she moved like a spider that had been half crushed by a book. Percy did not cower when she came close and pressed her dry lips to his cheek. Cassandra made herself hold strong against every instinct she had when her sister came to her. Whitney put her cool forehead to her sister's and breathed deeply. Her mouth breathed out the word _run_ though it could not form it into sound. Behind them the key turned in the lock and the tumblers clicked through the door and their opening of luck was rapidly closing. Cassandra considered grabbing her sister and pulling her to freedom but she did not know if the sorcery that kept Whitney alive and walking would extending past the walls of their home. Percy grabbed her arm roughly though he too was weak from his own torture. The door behind them opened and through the ringing in her ears Cassandra heard yells. She looked down at her own hands and saw that Whitney held the bundle with the black powder and the sword and the dagger. Had she given it to her? Perhaps her sister could see more than it seemed. Percy grabbed a torch to taken them back through the tunnel but Cassandra pulled it from him and handed it to Whitney. “Count to one hundred, Whitney, then this will all be over.”

Cassandra could hear the sounds of a struggle behind them as she and Percy fled. She worried they would kill Whitney before she reached the end of the count,but her sister was not human any longer. She was fuelled by will and had died with Oliver, she felt pain, perhaps, but it did not paralyse her. Cassandra held on to Percy for dear life and his arm was strong and hard around her own wrist. “We are murderers.” she told him as they ran but she was not sure he could hear. “Our lives are now the sum of our dead.” Percy did not reply, he was breathing heavily and he limped. He was bent almost double with pain and if he did hear her, he said nothing, perhaps because he had much better things to do. Perhaps because fleeing for one's life is not the correct time to be philosophizing.

The shattering of the dungeon, they heard. The combination of powder and fire broke through everything else and stopped them in their tracks for a few seconds too long, just as their feet hit the green of the outside. Neither wore shoes.

There were shouts from the guards but compared to the explosion it was nothing and so the two ran. Cassandra and Percy had grown up in this castle, they knew the forest and they knew its paths. This was their sole advantage. Perhaps their lack of footwear might have been another had it softened their progress through the woods but they moved like elephants, huffing and puffing and pulling each other to their feet when they stumbled without grace or softness. Behind them the clanging of the guard was louder and louder until it drowned out even the sounds of their ragged breathing. Cassandra saw the river ahead of them and thought it another godsend.

“Dive!” She ordered her brother, “Go! Go! We will swim. We will swim to freedom.”

And in Percy's story, those were her last words. Arrows, after all, are dangerous things.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the delay on this. I caught myself writing down notes about Cassandra from the post-campaign interviews and some of them contradicted my cannon and sort of took me on a spiral of WELL THEN I CAN'T WRITE HER IF IT'S NOT PERFECT. 
> 
> Obviously that was a dramatic approach to having more juicy information. So I ignored past me and finished this goddamn chapter.

“Darling.”

Cassandra did not open her eyes, she was caught between wanting to be dead, which would have been the least bothersome of her options, and wanting to be alive if only to kill Delilah Briarwood, who spoke to her like a mother and who had no right to touch that name, even in Cassandra's mind.

“Darling, wake up, wake up. Please Cassandra.”

Lady Briarwood sounded upset, which was not a tone that Cassandra had ever heard her use. Not like this. It took her a moment to realize that Lady Delilah was worried. She did not know that Cassandra had woken up. She did not  _ know _ . A cool hand brushed hair from Cassandra's forehead and Cassandra did all she could not to flinch. She felts a growl of pure rage build up in her throat and she pushed it down and locked it away in the vault of things she did not ever think she could touch again. Rage could not exist here. She thought she had died. The Gods were thoughtless and cruel. Why couldn't she have died?

A female voice she did not recognize was speaking in a tone she could best describe as “bored”, informed Lady Briarwood that Cassandra would wake, as promised, and she would be notified as soon as she did. Cassandra felt a light touch on her hand, and then the whisper of heavy velvet move away from her. The owner of the voice made a sound which was the verbal equivalent of rolling her eyes, and began to roughly examine Cassandra.

Let us take a moment here, as we have reached a quiet second in a story that admittedly is made of quiet, dark moments mixed with a few large very loud moments. In order for a story to remain interesting, I'm told, one must focus on the very large moments, but I shan't and won't and instead we will use this quiet moment to check upon Cassandra, who is in a considerable amount of pain.

The checklist of her injuries is as follows:

Three arrows to the right collarbone, the sternum, and right rib cage.

A punctured lung from said arrows.

Several broken ribs from Stonefell's beating

Deep cuts from Professor Anders' blade

A broken mind

The last item on the list cannot be medically certified, but we can assume it is true, because it simply cannot be otherwise. Anna Ripley, who was the woman previously mentioned, knew of these injuries. She had diagnosed them and removed most of the arrows from Cassandra's body, so we must believe she knew better than to be rough with the girl and yet she was, so let us also assume she did not care for her charge's wellbeing other than the amount she had been told to care by Lady Briarwood.

“Damn you.” Ripley said.

“Ouch.” Cassandra replied.

Cassandra did not know the woman was Ripley, but we do know, because we have the advantage of being outside of this story, while Cassandra is inside of it and has not caught up to our place. We know who Ripley is, and Cassandra does not, but Ripley did not much hide herself, her real self, from the girl who was rather helpless. 

“Finally. Let me call Lady Briarwood.” 

“No!” Cassandra reached her arm to stop Ripley and the sound that emerged from her was a primal sort of groan as every stitch the woman has set into her body pulled and strained against her stupidity. 

It was as though she had not spoken, and Ripley shook her hand off which made Cass growl. Cass tried to come to standing and managed a soft sort of lift with her back before collapsing under the weight of her own body. She heard Ripley speak and then the woman returned. 

“I said not to call her.” Cassandra said softly, “I asked you-”

“I heard.” Ripley smirked. “I ignored you.”

In hindsight, Cassandra should have known that Ripley would be loyal to her mistress and not to Cassandra, but it perhaps hit her in the very specific way that small things hit us when big things are too much to consider that things had changed irrevocably. Cassandra was not used to being refused. 

Lady Briarwood was rather less soft with her captive awake, in her sleep Cassandra had been fairly daughter-like, which is a phrase used to mean that she had not been grossly accusatory and contrary and rather more likeable. Awake, Cassandra was all those things, only less likable, and she refused to eat or speak or look at all grateful for her rescue. 

“Next time, Cassandra, I will leave you to the rebels.” Lady Briarwood said with a huff and she all but flew from the room. Ripley smiled a lipless smile and though she saw that Cassandra was shivering and goose-pimpled, she did not adjust her blankets and left her there in the cold room to think of all her mistakes while the cold sink intp her now rather old feeling bones. 

It soon became evident that Ripley had not been very forthcoming with any sort of pain medication either. Humans love to say that they have a very high pain tolerance. Certainly, they get tattoos and pierce every manner of flesh appendages with needles and metals. ‘Yes’, it is tempting to say, ‘You are very brave to let a needle into only the first few layers of your flesh’. “Yes,” one might want to scream, if you were Cassandra, ‘How strong you are to pinprick yourself for a few moments and then revel in the endorphins.’ 

It is rather difficult, dear reader, (which is the point), to compare such pain to having one’s body ripped open in several places and then put back together with needles having gone rather deeper than one would like to imagine needles being in the body. Cassandra was not riding any sort of endorphine wave. No, no, she was crying very unprettily and her nose was running an awful amount, and she was having all manners of trouble breathing. 

It is therefore notable when a maid came into her room and looked to be in a worse state, at least emotionally, than Cassandra was in. If you take nothing else from this story, please take into your hearts how very wrecked, in every capacity Cassandra has managed to become in only a short few months. 

“You look poorly.” Cassandra said, “Can you pass me a handkerchief? You may take one too.”

With very little spirit left in her, the maid spat on Cassandra, then burst in rather more aggressive tears than she had previously been sporting.

“Oh.” Said Cassandra, blinking, but not quite sure what, if anything she was expected to do. “You may have your handkerchief first then, if it means so much to you. I’ll wait.” 

The maid, who we will call Elsa for lack of a better name found in the records, did in fact help herself to a handkerchief, and then, rather sheepishly, helped Cassandra blow her own nose, gently wiped her tears, and carefully wiped some stray blood away. 

Though this is Cassandra’s story, let us hop over to Elsa, who had just that morning lost the love of her life to a heavily botched public execution. It is somewhat misleading to say that Henri - who was her husband of three months-  was the love of her life. It is misleading because Elsa was only twenty one when he died that morning and had not loved Henri all that long. They were a happy, viable match, but certainly not childhood lovers, starcrossed, or battle won. They agreed with each other and had found each other attractive enough and so had agreed to marry. Elsa wasn’t even pregnant with a child who could avenge it’s father. It was all rather disagreeable in that regard. We’re prone to thinking therefore that Elsa is less tragic than Cassandra, but Elsa was very upset and she had lost someone she loved, and it did not matter how long she had loved him… or how short. She was hurting and she had come to work that morning to kill the one who had caused it. But not the Briarwoods because they were terrifying… No, no, Cassandra would do. 

This was Cassandra’s fault because she had had the misfortune of being found by rebels, before she had the misfortune of being re-found by the Briarwoods. The Rebels, which is an official title for various men and women of Whitestone that had immediately found themselves angry at the Briarwoods and wanted something to do about it, had taken Cassandra and tried to tend to her for a week. A doctor had been called and he had been liberal with medication to stop her pain and had kept her body from infection but had simply not had Ripley’s ability to ultimately save her life. Cassandra had been rather prone to remaining mostly unconscious during this time, but she liked the Rebels and had declared that they would take back Whitestone. 

Luckily, when she was found there were only three Rebels (but let us call them men, for that is what they were.) Henri was one, Herb was another, Harry was the last. There is no meaning to the matching first letters of their names… it is just the way these things are. These men were not special. Just unlucky. They had been tortured and executed, and Cassandra had begun to slowly recover. It was as though their lives had been given to her. Yet...Let us speak no more about such morbid things. It is nothing. 

Here, we come back to Elsa who was not very happy with anyone at Whitestone, but specifically not Cassandra, and she had planned to smother the little Lady in her sleep, and had not expected to find her awake and looking so young and tiny and delicate. It is obvious now, but Elsa did not go through with murdering Cassandra. She did a great deal of crying instead. Cassandra had stopped crying at this point and focused on Elsa who gave her a great deal of information she had been lacking. Up until now Cassandra had assumed her brief stint with the rebels had been nothing more than a fever dream. Elsa assured her that was not true. Rebels still lived in Whitestone and were even more certain to rise up with every day that passed. Days would continue passing, Elsa said with some degree of wisdom, and so there would be an uprising. Cassandra agreed. 

“I should not have come in here.” Elsa said at last, after the two had been sitting together for a great deal of time. 

“I appreciate that you’re letting me live.” Cassandra said without a trace of irony, despite the fact that earlier today she had desperately hoped to die.

“I imagine eventually you’ll be the one to kill them all.” Elsa had taken on a rather terrifying look in her eye. It was terrifying because it was hopeful, and Cassandra had had rather enough of hope. 

“Perhaps.” 

“I imagine you’re desperate to do it after what they’ve done to your family.”

Cassandra was silent. Feeling things were overrated by far, she did not know how to tell Elsa that she had a black hole in her being where it came to feelings about her family. 

“Not even a proper burial.” Elsa stood to leave, clicking her tongue. This time, when Cassandra went to lift herself so she could grab, she was prepared for the pain and found rather more success than she had earlier in the day. 

“What do you mean?” Cassandra had her teeth bared in pain and pre-emptive anger. Had she looked like this when Elsa had first come in, she would certainly have been dead by now. 

“They strung them up. Maybe not them, maybe just people who looked like them. It’s hard to tell, they don’t look like they did before-” Elsa squeaked as Cassandra fiercely dug into her arm.  _ Show me _ her eyes said. 

So Elsa showed her. 

The room she was in was not her own. It had a perfect view of the great tree they had used to string up her family. Not all. They had found a replacement for Whitney and Oliver who were nothing more than black marks on Whitehall’s dungeon now. It was hard to tell if Percy was real. His hair was dark, and Cassandra remembered it being light and their bodies were distant from her but she was almost sure it was not him. Mama and Papa were in their underclothes and Papa had been sewn back together. Cassandra burned, she burned and  _ burned _ . Vesper and Julius were real. She recognized their wounds. Ludwig was not the real Ludwig, they had found another boy who resembled him. She wasn’t sure why they hadn’t used the real thing. 

She found herself wailing silently… frozen and flaming at once. Her figure alone had been missing from her family’s memorial. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to let Whitestone know that she was a hostage or to mark her as a traitor. Suddenly Elsa was looking at her in fear. The maid recognized what Cassandra still could not.

Cassandra was not devoid of feeling… she was consumed whole by it. She would have vengeance and Whitestone would quake. 


End file.
